It has become somewhat of a cliché to express written regrets toward our younger children. We often reflect on how we’ve loosened rules as we’ve had more kids. We joke about the early vocabulary they’ve acquired, the films they’ve watched too soon, and the less-than-healthy snacks they’ve indulged in. Yet, many of these narratives are not true apologies; instead, they serve as subtle self-congratulations for being more relaxed parents.
The reality is that the innocence of our youngest children is frequently compromised due to the presence of their older siblings. In a world where we are increasingly pushing our children to grow up faster—through practices like redshirting—their childhood is often overlooked. Society has somehow fostered the belief that youth and naivety are liabilities. We unconsciously encourage our children to emulate their older siblings, expecting them to possess the same skills, behavior, and maturity.
I, too, have fallen into this pattern. My 8-year-old, for instance, has a later bedtime than his older sibling at the same age. He has been privy to discussions far beyond his years and has seen movies that have accelerated his maturity. He often seeks the company of his brother’s friends rather than his peers, which is typical for a youngest child. While some aspects of this experience are not negative, it’s essential to recognize when they express a need to remain young.
Just the other evening, I was seated at the dinner table with my boys, enjoying a lively conversation. Without any prompting, my youngest quietly slid off his chair and climbed up behind me, playing with my hair as he did when he was just four. I didn’t interrupt him or rush him to finish his meal. Instead, we continued our chat as he twirled my hair around his fingers, reminiscent of simpler times.
As I observed this moment, I realized how often I had begun treating him like his older brother. I recognized that I had overlooked his need to remain little. There were numerous times he expressed a desire to play games that might seem too simple for him. For every request to engage in Scrabble, there was a simultaneous plea to revisit Chutes and Ladders. Just the other night, we had a nostalgic moment, laughing together as we read old board books for the first time in years.
And so, dear child, I make you this vow:
I promise to acknowledge that you are still just a child. I will strive not to impose the same expectations on you as I do with your older brother. I will nurture the wonder you see in the world. I won’t rush through your stories, regardless of the distractions around us. I will read you picture books and indulge in silly voices while pointing out amusing illustrations. I will cherish our snuggle time, even when household chores beckon.
I will always be willing to watch “Curious George,” even if your brother opts for the latest blockbuster. I will relish watching you play with the older kids before we join in for underwater tea parties and cheer your not-so-perfect handstands. I will shield you from the harsh realities of the world for as long as I can, even if that means delaying some truths. You will know I believe you are still young enough to deserve that protection.
I promise to give you the freedom you seek while providing the guidance you need. I won’t rush your childhood, nor will I wish it away. When you stumble, I will help you rise again. I will hold your hand and cherish your heart. I will love you fiercely.
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In summary, my commitment to my youngest child is a heartfelt promise to embrace his childhood fully. I will honor his innocence and allow him to savor being little for as long as possible.